


Coping Mechanisms

by IMAgentMI, PFLAgentYork (Legendaerie)



Series: Post-PFL RP AU [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, F/M, Fertility Issues, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 17:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/PFLAgentYork
Summary: In the aftermath of failure, York and Carolina learn to forgive themselves and come back together.





	Coping Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> in case you haven't noticed these daily fics as Amy and I empty out months of backlogged RP collab fic. Quoth our mutual friend Alanna, "it's like the filthiest advent calendar yet."

As usual, York is awake first, eyes cracking open to the ghostly glow of dawn in the bedroom. Carolina is snug beside him, the massive bed wasted with how tightly they tend to cling to each other, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Except for the fact that he woke up way, way too early for any reasonable person to be awake and is rock hard.

He presses a featherlight kiss to the side of Carolina’s neck, then another, and another, and another; gauging to see how awake she might be. She’s still raw after the failed pregnancy test, and it's been a full week since they last had sex. York is resigned to getting off in a cold shower, but he’d like at least to run the option by her before he goes to take care of his problem.

“Lina bean?” he asks gently; his kisses and words are soft enough to be ignored if she’s enjoying a dream.

“Hmmm.”  York's kisses are always a pleasant way to wake, and Carolina lifts her head slightly in recognition. “Love you.” 

She snuggles back against him, aching to share his warmth, the comfort of his skin- but stiffens slightly when she feels his erection pressed against her ass. She feels her face flush with grief and shame. It's been too long since they had sex, too long for him, too long for her, but she just hasn't been ready. 

She knows it is irrational to feel as though she somehow failed in their one attempt to get pregnant, especially considering there were no signs that the birth control was yet out of her system, that it was their first ever attempt. She's used to being the best, is too conditioned to see anything but complete success as absolute failure. It's ridiculous and she knows she shouldn't be so affected by it, but she is.  Thank god York has been so understanding.  

Carolina still doesn't know if she is ready, but she wants to be, and hopes that counts for something.

She moves her hand down to cover York's, where it lies on her hip.  Gently and so, so slowly, she guides his hand away from her hip, up her waist and abs, eventually resting over her breast.  “This okay?”

“Gonna need a color,” he replies, putting a little bit of distance between their hips. “Green, yellow, red?”

“Yellow,” Carolina confesses. “Lets...just see where this goes? I want to, but…” she ducks her head with a grimace, “just still... struggling. It's not your fault,” she adds in a whisper.

“It's not yours, either. You can’t help your body, or what the Project did to it.” He resumes kissing along her neck, slow and gentle. “You’re all I want.”

Maybe it was revisiting this barely healed wound, or just the tenderness in York's words -maybe it was even the early morning hour- but something in Carolina cracks, threatens to break clean in half.  She turns over, nearly elbowing him in her haste, gathering him to her and resting her head against his as she tries to hold herself together. 

“Do you have condoms? I can't… go through that every month. Not until I know we at least have a chance to…”  She does break then, her voice choking off and she rolls onto her back, covering her eyes with her hands as her body is racked with sobs.   

York rests his arm around her ribs, holding her to him and biting his tongue as hard as he can, holding himself together. “You know I don't. I can get some next time we make a run into town. Maybe pick up something sweet, too?” Her pain breaks his heart, but there’s nothing either of them can do about it now except wait and pray that she heals. And even then, there’s the threat of miscarriage, of complications that could kill her or the baby; so many variables that he has no control over that he talks over with Delta every night, trying to soothe himself with probabilities and data points.

He presses his nose against her temple, a kiss to her teary cheek. “It's okay, my love, it's all right. C’mere,” and York tucks her under his chin, curling around her as though he could shield her from this, “I've got you. It's gonna be okay.”

Carolina wraps her arms around York, face pressed into his chest, and lets herself weep unrestrainedly.  York strokes one hand along her back, smoothing the tears out of her, and with them slowly,  _ finally _ goes her despair, drawn out of her like a poison. 

It's been a long week, filled with heartache, so her tears don't stop easily.  But they do eventually, replaced by a calmness that is only marred by an occasional hiccup.

York remains quiet, soothing her back to sleep with touches that slow and then settle. He’s waited this long for her. He doesn't mind waiting a little more.

 

* * *

 

Carolina wakes up to sunshine and an empty bed. She sits up carefully, still not broken of the habit of sensing for danger from the moment she opens her eyes. But house is silent and clearly empty - there is a raw, echo-y quality to it when York isn't around, and she feels it now. Carolina is about to open her mouth to address Delta, to ask where York is, when she hears a squeal of metal outside from the garage.  Mystery solved, then. 

Carolina sits listening for a moment as the sound of shifting metal is punctuated by occasional cussing from York.  She tosses the blankets aside, ready to rush out to help, but his voice snaps away from frustrated and angry, to almost purring smugness.  Whatever it was, he handled it then.

He might not need her, but she runs with the momentum of that call to action anyway, and rises from bed. She strips off her nightgown and panties, dropping them into the hamper before making her way into the bathroom. She was intending to take a cold shower to snap herself the rest of the way awake, but she already has goosebumps budding out over her arms. She turns the dial toward hot, and only pauses a moment before stepping into the stall.

Meanwhile, Delta chirps in York’s back pocket.  _ “Carolina is awake and moving. She just activated the shower.” _

“Thanks, D.”

A pause.  _ “At this time, usually you join her.” _

York wipes his hands off on his pants, smearing grease all over his thighs. “I don't know what our usual is right now,” he says softly, stepping back to assess his latest project; a motorcycle in a few dozen pieces, splayed across the concrete. Delta had pointed out that it was a coping mechanism for Carolina’s infertility, to which York had almost put his fist through the drywall. They haven't discussed it since.

_ “She has not had breakfast yet. Would you--” _

“I'm busy, D.” York’s voice is sharper than it should be, than he likes to use, but he’s tired and still trying to wind down from this morning. To forgive himself for pushing her. “Just need a little bit longer. I want-- I need to fix this.”

He's not sure he's talking about the motorcycle any more.

Carolina lingers a bit in the shower. She's already clean, but normally York has an uncanny sense of when she's bathing and either peeks his head in to get a playful eyeful, or far more often, comes in to join her. 

Not today, however.

Carolina finally turns off the water, snagging one of the luxuriously fluffy towels off the rack to wrap around her hair and a second for herself.  York isn't waiting for her in the bedroom either, and as she clips her bra behind her back, she hears him still outside.  Trying not to think about what that might mean, Carolina finishes dressing, pulling her shirt over her head as she makes her way into the kitchen.

She pulls out their only cookbook, sets it on the counter and starts leafing through.  If York needs time alone for a while that's okay - but if she can open the front door and tempt him back into the house and her arms with the smell of baking...that's okay too.

She finally finds the recipe she wants, reads through it and groans. She's got everything she needs for it, but the  _ time _ …

On impulse, Carolina lifts her head toward the ceiling. “Delta? I’m trying to make cinnamon buns, but don’t have hours for the damn yeast to work.  You got a fix?”

_ “You purchased some instant yeast three weeks and five days ago, and your oven comes with a proving setting that may aid in rising the dough faster.” _

“Oh.” Carolina steps to the stove, taking a closer look at the controls. “Well then.”  With a smile, she breaks away to the pantry and starts pulling out bags and jars. “Let's set York up for some terrible “buns” puns, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

An hour or so later, a beep from his phone disturbs York out of his thoughts. Still flat on his back, he turns his head towards the source of the noise.

“What is it, D?”

_ “Carolina has made a late breakfast. It would be good of you to join her, since you have not eaten yet today.” _

“You wouldn't believe me if I said I wasn’t hungry, would you?” he asks.

_ “I may not have constant access to your vital signs but I know that your blood sugar and hydration levels would be fairly low by now, and--” _

“Okay, okay. I’m going.” He gets up and pockets his phone, hesitating. “Is… Carolina okay?”

_ “Parameters are too general, York. Define ‘okay.’” _ A smart ass reply. York scowls, wipes his face off with an equally filthy rag, and heads to the house.

Carolina is carefully trying to separate the cinnamon buns with a knife when she hears the door open. “Hey. It’ll be ready In a second. I just gotta--" Carolina glances up and freezes, biting her lips together to keep from laughing. “Ah. Maybe you should go wash up first. You got time.” She drops her head again, continuing to work, but now with a smile on her face.

Even when his heart aches and his head is in knots, York can’t help but return the smile. “Guess I missed my chance to be efficient with my shower earlier, huh.”

“Maybe.”  It's difficult to keep a hold of the knife, to not just drop everything and wrap her arms around him, to be close to him the way she missed all morning. “But I wouldn't mind wasting a little water with you later.” She looks up for this smile, meeting his eyes. 

York very gently nudges her elbow with his as he passes, heading to the sink and turning on the hot water. A generous squeeze of dish soap in his hands and he lathers them up, digging his nails into his palms and scrubbing. “Cinnamon rolls, huh? Smells good.”

“Yeah. My mouth has been watering since they heated up enough to really smell the cinnamon.” Carolina glances over. “Don't forget to spray down the sink when you're done. Dirt seem to like to linger even more than potato peels.” She carefully starts lifting buns out of the pan onto waiting plates. “What are you working on out there?”

“The bike.” A little bit more soap, then he moves on to his face, splashing the front of his shirt as he scrubs at his skin. “Wanna get it done before it starts getting too cold to work out there.”

“We’ll get you a space heater. You need to have room to do your own thing.  That's important.” Carolina brings both plates over to the table then returns briefly for a bowl of local fruit that looks like grapes, but tastes like extra sweet citrus. “I'll grab glasses if you want to get the milk? Check it, though. Not sure how old it is.”

He hums, fumbles for the paper towels with his eyes still shut - hears the shuffle of feet, then a familiar rip and finds one thrust into his hand. “Thanks, ‘lina.”

“Anytime.”

York dries off his face and watches her pick up the fruit bowl again and carry it out to the table. It’s not fair. He should be able to help her, but he can’t. They hadn’t made it out of the Project with his healing unit - hell, they’d ditched most of their armor a few days in to the run and only kept a sentimental piece each - and the familiar helplessness is tearing him apart. Except this time, unlike all those years at war where they subjected themselves to experiments and suffering, she wants his help. She wants to get better. And his hands are a different kind of tied, now.

He turns back to the fridge, uncaps the milk and takes a sniff. It’s not cow’s milk, or the rehydrated stuff they drank for years on the ship, and it’s so much harder to gauge if it’s expired or not. Careful not to touch the bottle with his mouth, York pours a mouthful and holds it on his tongue, breathing through his nose.

Back to the sink. “Nope,” he spits, scrapes his tongue off with his teeth and gags. “Nope, nope, that’s not good anymore.” 

“Shit, you okay? Hold on, I'll get you a piece of bread -"  Carolina drops the bowl on the table harder than she intended, grabs a clear bag off the counter with what's left of her homemade bread. She doesn't bother cutting it, just rips off a chunk and hands it to York. “Chew it, scrub it around your mouth and spit it out. It’ll get rid of the worst of it.”

He complies, spitting the wad in the paper towel from earlier, then ducking his head to drink directly out of the faucet. “I miss cows so much,” he whines, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Carolina sighs. “I’d give my left tit for a really good steak. Like… a real one. Seared just right, pink in the middle, just that feel when you bite in, you know? Crap, starting to salivate.  C’mon. Buns await.”

Since milk is out of the question, Carolina draws two glasses of water from the sink while York sits down. She returns to the table, sets both down and pushes the fruit toward him with a pointed look. “So how is the bike coming along? By the way, you make the best noises when you're out there. If I hadn't fallen in love with you before, I would have from that alone.” Carolina finally sits, peeling the outside layer of her bun away, exposing the cinnamon. 

“Maybe I should get a handaxe and start chopping wood while shirtless for the winter. Of course, we’d first need to get a fireplace…” He takes a bite out of the bun, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “If manual labor gets you off, I wouldn’t mind being your slave.”

“You're not already?” Carolina breaks off the ribbon of pastry, locks eyes with York and licks along the cinnamon side.

His breath catches, and he wants her so bad it’s physically painful. One hand slips under the table to sink his nails into his palm and he breaks her gaze, turning back to his food. It’s too soon to stir this up again, so he flashes a wry little smile. “True enough,” he manages, clears his throat. “The bike is, frankly, not driving anywhere soon but it’s kind of fun anyway. Might be a longer term project than I’d planned, but it’s progressing.”

“Jigsaw puzzle for big boys. And a treasure hunt too. I can see the draw, even if I am not mechanically inclined.”  Carolina pops the piece of bun in her mouth. “You really seem to get something out of it. You always seem perkier when you've been working out there. Even when you say things aren't going well. Maybe not ‘perkier’ but… satisfied. Turned on. Like...  plugged into something you didn't know you needed. It's great to see.” Carolina pauses, ready to tear off another piece, staring down at her hands. “Every time I see you like that, it hits me all over again. That we made it. You can have that because  _ we made it.” _

“Lockpicking used to be like at times. When I could get it done. And when I wasn’t getting shot.” He nudges her foot under the table with his own, not to flirt, just to touch her. “And you get like that when you do hand to hand. When you did, I mean.” He chews on this for a moment, already making new plans. Maybe there’s other things he could do to help. “It is really, really nice to not be shot. Such a luxury to cut all that lead out of my diet.”

“Yeah. Glad you're not getting shot anymore, too. You used to whine like crazy.” Carolina grins at him, goes to put another piece of bun in her mouth and stops short. “Actually, I’m glad to not be shot at anymore too. When I'm getting changed, or ready for the shower and see all the scars… hard to believe we survived. We shouldn't have.  I look like a goddamn connect-the-dots of scars and bullet holes. But…” her voice gets a touch wistful as the bun finally goes in, “...I was good at it. I just… have to figure out something else to be good at now, I guess.” 

She shakes herself a bit, gives a laugh that is only a little strained. “Probably won't be baking though. I mean, it's working out. The buns are okay.  But still feels a bit more chore than fun.  Aside from the times I do it with you.”

The joke is too easy, even if there’s not his usual lust behind it. “I’m pretty fond of your buns, for what it’s worth. Maybe you should be the one chopping wood, though. You’ve always been a pretty kinetic person.”

“Maybe. I won’t rule it out. Maybe what I should have been all this time was a lumberjack, and I just didn’t know it.” She doesn’t feel a whole lot better, but runs with it anyway. “What do you think?  Cut my hair short, wear a lot of flannel? Get a blue ox, maybe?”

“I don’t know, that seems like a lot of bull.”

Carolina drops both arms onto the table, making the silverware rattle. “Remind me why we’re together again?  And why you shouldn’t sleep on the couch tonight?”

“Because I make sexy noises when I’m frustrated, apparently,” he says, zero remorse in his broad grin as he takes another bite, and as he chews lets his tone soften to something more serious as he thinks about all their scars. “And I’d have been dead a hundred times over without you.”

“Same. Or worse.  I could h--”  Carolina breaks off, not meeting York’s eyes. “But we’re good now. We’re safe. We’ve got each other, we’re okay.” As long as no one ever finds them. But she’d rather die than ever say those words out loud.

He bumps her under the table again, an apology for dampening the moment. “That’s the spirit. Do you want a fireplace, though? I mean, they’re not… that bad to make, right? It’s just a hole in the roof surrounded by brick, right Delta?”

_ “That is a gross simplification and I would not recommend such drastic and dangerous renovations to be undertaken by a pair of complete amateurs.” _

“Ouch.”

_ “If this house burns down, I burn with it.” _ Delta seems a little snappish - York wonders if he’s upset by all the conversation on the Project. 

York hums. “Maybe next year, then. Or I could show you around the greenhouse. Get you a little more involved in that if you wanted. You get to play in the dirt a lot, and I’ve got all the tricky irrigation set up. I think. It might still leak sometimes but we’re on a well, it just goes right back into the ground.” 

“That could be fun - getting dirty with you.” Carolina leans on the table toward York and gives him a wink. “But seriously though - I think I might really enjoy that.  I’ve spent too much time destroying things, killing.  It would really be nice to come out the other side. To help things grow. Give a bit of life back, you know? Maybe that’s what I need.” She reaches out, strokes her thumb along his wrist, once, twice. “Next time you want to work on it, I’ll come too. I’d like to be a part of this with you.” 

“Of course. There’s not much in there now. Just a few houseplants that we can bring inside when it starts to get cold, if I didn’t insulate the place well enough. Come spring we can see about looking through seed catalogs.” He reaches across and twines his fingers with hers, hoping his smile can hide his lingering melancholy. “Get way, way too excited about ordering dried beans.”

“Beans?  Not peas?”  Carolina smiles back, squeezing her fingers around his gently. 

“Them, too. Anything you want.” Food forgotten, he studies her face from across the table, resting his chin in his other hand.  He loves her so much, so deeply and thoroughly that it frightens him sometimes. Not today, though. Today it just makes him feel weak, and tired, and despite it all stubborn as hell. He’ll think of something to help her. They’ll have the children they both want. He just has to work harder than ever.

Carolina reaches over, brushing the backs of her fingers over his cheek. “Love you.”  It isn't enough though, and she pushes back her chair to stand, passing the corner of the table to put her arms around him. “So much.” Carolina presses her face into his hair to breath him in and coughs.  “Even when you smell like grease.”

“I’ve smelt like worse,” he reminds her, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch, soaking her up like a plant turns its leaves towards the sun. He pulls her arms tighter around him, tilting his head to find her neck and kiss her.  

“Probably. I don't remember it though.” She bends a bit so York doesn't have to crane to reach her.  “I just remember the way you smell.”  She nuzzles against his cheek.  “Funny the memories that stick with you.  Pinning you on the sparring pads. The smell of the pads and sweat and you. Don't think I'll ever forget that.”

“We really need to make something in this house a gym.” He reaches across the table and spears her cinnamon bun with a fork, holds it up to her in offering. “We’ve got the living room. Bedroom. Delta’s little hub closet with all the stolen tech and surveillance stuff. Kitchen and dining room fused. Guest bedroom, and the half-bathroom. And the garage.” York waits for her to take a bite before taking one of his own, then passing it back. 

“Delta’s room is too small to repurpose and I already lined the walls to prevent pings. Don’t wanna do that again. We could always gym up the living room. Just move the couch a little further from the TV, or to the side? Get a stationary bike or an elliptical? And put a punching bag in the garage if we do have a space heater. That way if someone wakes up and needs to hit things it's not so close to the bedroom.” 

“That sounds like a pretty good plan. I’m starting to get...soft. Running hasn't been enough.”  Carolina eyes the bun left on the fork and then takes it in her teeth, pulling it off the tines with a jerk of her head. She ducks lower to offer York a bite. 

He reciprocates, pulling her in with a little moan but withdrawing just as fast. “Sorry. I’m still really… really wound up.”

Carolina removes the piece of cinnamon bun from between her teeth and sets it on her plate. “Hey, don't be sorry.  I’ve not been up for much lately.  Just too… emotional.” Carolina leans her forehead against his, bracing herself to stay calm, but is surprised to find it isn't a struggle anymore. She lets out a grateful sigh and goes on. “Just had too much to sort through in my head. Too much to come to terms with. I just needed time. I'm sure there will be plenty of bad days to deal with as this all plays out but… today's not one of them.”

Carolina cups his face in both hands, turning him up for a kiss.  “We don't have to do anything. But… we can if you want. I'd like to.  I'd definitely like to get you off so you don't look so uncomfortable. Plus, feels like it's been ages since you last fed me your come.” She kisses him again, longer, but pulls back to wait for him to answer.

He makes a downright obscene noise at her last words, eyes fluttering closed. “If…” His breath is already starting to hitch, but he’s been at a low repressed burn for hours. Days, if he’s honest. “If you’re sure-- I don’t want to talk you into this,” York says, but the way his lips brush her mouth says the opposite. “I can handle it. Did it for years, but that was before I knew-- knew how sweet you tasted, how good you looked--”

The hand not gripping his fork for dear life inches up his thigh, subconsciously teasing himself.

“Just-- be sure you’re okay, okay? I don’t-- I don’t ever want to be the reason you cry like that again.”

“Oh sweetheart…” Carolina leans in closer, cupping her hand over his port that hasn't been used since Delta was installed in the house, his port that likely would never be used again. 

“You weren't the reason. Don't ever tell yourself that you were the reason, you understand me? You hold me together, York. We are going to spend the rest of our lives being honest and raw with each other. Sometimes lines will cross.  Sometimes what we are dealing with is so big we can't predict how well we will handle it. That's okay. But it's not your fault.”  Carolina moves in to brush her lips against his. “Got that?”

“Mmm,” he agrees, nuzzling her jawline. “I know. Still feel bad when I fuck it up, though.That I brought it up before you were ready.” A little drag of one canine against her throat, a kiss. “But I’d rather know when I do, so I can do better. Keep telling me what you want. What you don’t. And I’ll keep trying to listen.”

At the touch of his tooth against her throat, Carolina’s eyes flutter shut. “You didn't know. I didn't know I wasn't ready, how could you? God, York…” Her hand over his port moves up his neck to catch a handful of his hair. “I am ready now.”

York lets out a needy sound, pulling her into his lap and kissing her, throwing his arms around her shoulders and cupping her face in his hands. “Where do you want me?” he asks, voice dipping low and rasping, nibbling on her bottom lip.

“On the bed and in my mouth.” Carolina tightens her grip in his hair. “Don't worry about the sheets…” She pulls back just enough to look him up and down, then leans back in, her voice low and dark.  “I like my dirty boy.” 

“I’ll bet you do,” and he yanks her into his lap so she can feel how hard he is already. “You like me sweaty,” he growls between kisses, “and greasy, and all worn out so you can do whatever you want to me, don’t you? You like your man and his filthy, filthy mouth, huh?”

“I think maybe I want to put that filthy mouth to work. Find something you can do with it. Keep your tongue busy.”  Carolina draws her nails down the back of York's neck, just enough to catch.  “Or maybe I should just edge you for hours and listen to all the deliciously obscene noises your dirty mouth can make.”

“Lina, you’ve been edging me for days already,” he pleads, shuddering under her and trying to rock her against him for some friction. “Just-- please, let me touch you, let me taste you, ride my face and pull my hair and smother me.”

“Of course, York.  You've been so good… trying so hard…”  Carolina kisses him, reaching down to palm him, giving him something to grind against. “I'm going to take care of you, okay?”

He lets his head fall back and mouth drop open, shamelessly arching into her touch and moaning. The loose grip he has on her hips trembles, tightens as he traps her hand between their bodies. “ _ Fuck me _ ,” he begs, “I don’t care how but _ fuck me, please. _ ”

“I’m going to. God York…” Carolina kisses him hard, leaning her hand into him, stroking him as much as possible through his pants. “You are such a gorgeous piece of ass. Stop making me want to ride you right here in the chair so we can get in bed and so this right.”

“That’s-- not much of a deterrent--”

“Look--" Carolina grabs York by the shirt and pulls him close. “We just got this dining set, and I don't want to start breaking all these chairs to matchsticks by riding you at a gallop on them. We might need them all one day. I want you naked and on the bed  _ now _ .”

Even as he shivers, eyes fluttering closed as he rolls his hips against her, York grins. “You’re the one-- sitting on me,” he reminds her, smoothing his hands down her thighs so he’s not gripping her to him. “You first. I’ll follow.”

Carolina kisses him one last time, keeping her lips against his as she rises, drawing him up after her. She leads him, walking backwards to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as they go. The shirt brushes back off his shoulders just as they reach the bed, and as he works the sleeves off, she slides her hands down the sides of his sweats, catching the elastic of his briefs as well as she goes.  Carolina kneels, pulling them down to his ankles before abandoning them, turning her attention to his erect cock, already beading with precum. 

“I don't think I had enough to eat for breakfast.” Carolina takes his shaft in her hand, raises her eyes to his as her lips close over the head.

York wails, legs nearly buckling, and he grabs Carolina by the shoulders nearly hard enough to bruise, fighting the need to push in even deeper to the hot wet heat of her mouth. Immediately, he lets go, a stream of apologies pouring out of his mouth.

“Shit shit shit sorry, fuck, sorry, I-- I can’t stand, ‘lina, you gotta let me lay down,” he gasps, yanking spasmodically at her shirt as she pulls off him with a wet smacking sound. “God. Ff-fuck. You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Calm down, York… I can't tie you down until we sort out restraints for the bed, but I will find a way if I must. Relax. You're fine. We're fine. Here, lay down…” Carolina moves back, stands and waits for him to climb onto the center of the bed, watches him roll onto his back.  Carolina follows him up, crawling over his body until they are face to face.  She lowers herself onto him  straddling his hips as she brushes light kisses over his lips and cheeks.  “Better?”

“Yes,” he whimpers, kissing her deeply. His hands dance down her back to palm her ass, stroke the outsides of her thighs; back up and catching the bottom of her shirt as he goes, coaxing it off. “Fuck yes, yes, yes.”

Carolina arches her back, sits up just enough that York can pull her shirt over her head. While he throws her shirt to the side, she sits up the rest of the way, reaching behind her back to unclip her bra. Immediately, his mouth is on her neck, her chest, nipping and sucking in all the best places to make her gasp, throwing her clothes blindly across the room.

For all his talk of not wanting to convince her, he can’t stop touching her once she let him start, and he slides his hand down the front of her pants, fingers curling to trace her already slick opening. York lets out a nearly agonized sound of want against her collarbone, setting the edges of his teeth against her skin and taking in a sharp breath.

“Oh, damn,” he chokes. “You missed me too, huh?”

“I did. Every damn day, York.” She gasps as one of his fingers threatens to breach her. “I want to get you off. I still want to suck you o--" He brushes his fingertips against her again and she groans, clutching at him.  

York fumbles her pants and panties down to her thighs then falls back onto the bed, watching her face as he slips a finger inside of her, drinking in the sight of her face flushing, her mouth dropping open with a moan. “Want you too,” he mumbles, hips jerking as he feels her tighten around him as he eases out enough to trace around her again, lighting up every delicate nerve. “Shit.”

He doesn’t mean to tease her, not really; he’s still trying to be gentle but neither can he focus on anything but wanting her, wanting to be inside of her, wanting to come with her.  He wasn’t kidding when he said she’d been edging him for days, and he reaches down to wrap his wet hand around his cock and stroke, back arching and eyes rolling from that alone. “Shiiiiit,” he keens, squeezing tight around the base and feeling tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He hasn’t come in days, but he can’t, he won’t without her.

“Why did you stop? I want to watch you come. Suck your come off your fingers, lick it off your chest, or just catch it in my mouth  I want to milk you dry, York.”  To prove her sincerity, Carolina dismounts, shifts down the bed.  Her hand pulls his away and replaces It, her mouth once again closing over the head of his cock and she wastes no time to take him deep.

This time, when he blindly reaches for something to hold onto, York’s hands find the sheets. His breath comes in with a sob, out with an expletive, rinse and repeat as he all but writhes on the bed, beyond shame or sense as Carolina’s tongue plays with the slit at the head of his dick. But he is tired, from lack of sleep and a morning of hard work, and eventually he falls back on the bed, a quivering mess as Carolina plunges back down.

“So good,” he murmurs, hands flexing in the sheets, abs flexing every time Carolina tries something new with her mouth. “Fuck-- you’re so good, so good, so damn good, ‘lina.” The softer tone of his voice feels like a lie; he’s wound so goddamn tight he can’t keep his eyes from rolling. “Seein’ stars with how you-- how you feast on me--”

Carolina pulls back, but keeps his dick pressed against her face, moving it over her lips and cheek as she talks. “Good, because I’m starving for you. Better give me something I can swallow, York.”  She licks a stripe along the side of his cock before taking him in again, pressing her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth and forcing him through the tight space.

There's no way he can last like this, and no better term for the noise that rips out of him than a shriek. York sucks in a breath that trembles on the way in and comes back out on what might be a moan of her name. It's just so much after so little for so long, and he lets himself get as loud as he needs.

She is relentless, as she always is when she has a goal in mind; every possible point of contact, even the ghostly tickle of her hair brushing his hips, burns. York doesn't want it to be over so fast, but god he needs this, has needed this for a while, and not even the white-knuckled grip he has on the sheets can keep him from approaching his climax.

His hands find her hair just as she takes him in deep again; he chokes, pulls her hair instead of caressing it, and comes in breathless silence.

Despite his fingers locked on her hair, Carolina manages to pull back just enough that York doesn’t come straight into her throat, and keeps up small thrusts with her mouth, swallowing a little bit at a time, and massaging his pulsing cock with her tongue.  She lets out deliberate little moans of enjoyment with every thrust, watching the way he twitches and arches, and she keeps milking him as long as he can stand it.

The way he feels defies description; being wanted so badly, being pushed so far beyond his typical limits, brings the sting of tears to his eyes. It's so good, like a cool shower after a hot day, a soft bed at night. As exhilarating and filthy and raw as it is familiar and comforting. 

It feels like hours when York weakly taps the mattress twice, catching his breath as Carolina lets him go and lays his softening cock against his lower stomach. His mind is completely blank, and he feels damn near paralyzed from pleasure, exhausted in a way he hasn't felt since they ‘retired.’ 

Carolina pushes herself, crawling carefully to his side.  It takes a couple nudges to his arm before she can get his attention, before he comes to his senses enough to raise it up, letting her snuggle close. 

Carolina nestles into his shoulder, draping an arm across his chest before finally letting out a soft contented sigh.  She settles for a moment, then lifts her head to get a look at him before laying back down. “You okay, York?” Her fingers trace down his arm until she finds his hand, and she weaves their fingers together.  “Only if you don't say something soon, I might have to check for vitals.”  She presses a kiss just under his collarbone, and closes her eyes.

He squeezes her back in return, and his voice is almost a slur when he speaks.

“Gimme… three… and I'm gonna tongue fuck you senseless.”

Carolina smiles into his skin. “Three hours to sleep, you mean. You look like you need it.”

He tries to say, ‘you doubt my resolve?’ but isn't sure what comes out is even a language. At her laugh, he tilts his head to the side, kissing her on the forehead, and huffs a sigh of mock outrage.

“Maybe fifteen minutes,” he concedes, pulling her closer.

“I can live with that,” she whispers. Carolina closes her eyes, warm and happy against him.  As she starts to drift, the last thing she feels is his fingers tightening on hers.

 

* * *

 

They wake up to a gentle chime in the bedroom and Delta’s voice.  _ “Based on the sounds of your breathing, it is the optimal time in your sleep cycles to wake up. It has been 40 minutes. Another cycle might cause difficulty with your circadian rhythms _ .”

“Drink it up, Carolina,” York grumbles, rolling on top of her to kiss her mouth. “He has always been like this. Now you know what it was like.”

_ “I also do not miss being plugged into your brain _ .”

“Boys…” Carolina can't help but smile against York's mouth. “ _ Behave.” _

_ “Make me.” _ “Make me.”

York freezes in horror.

Carolina realizes her mouth has dropped open in shock and closes it with a click, trying to regain some of her cool demeanor.  “Um. So who’s first?”

“ _ No _ ,” York declares with vehemence, rolling out of bed and storming over to the nearest control panel in the wall. “Where is the mute button. You will not take my witty comebacks from me.”

“Yeah Delta, please don’t. He has so few as it is.”  Carolina grins at the ceiling, avoiding York's eyes. 

The look he throws her is reminiscent of a kicked dog.

“ _ Very well. I shall refrain from targeting any more fish in this barrel _ .”

“Fuck you very much.”

A chirp confirms Delta limiting his awareness in the room; York huffs and heads back to the bed, crawling all the way across the mattress to drop beside Carolina.

“He woke me up, stole my joke and killed the mood,” York gripes. “I liked him better when I could turn him off.”

“You really think he killed the mood?” Carolina rolls half on top of him, brushing her mouth against his as she rests her thigh across his own. “Even if he can turn you off, I know how to turn you back on.” She drags her nails down his chest, abs, all the way down to his cock.  “You've got a very easy to find, user-friendly switch.”

“Mmm,” York concedes, kissing her. “I think I owe you an orgasm. Or several.”

“Do you?” Carolina drops her voice to a whisper. “Lucky for us, I don't have any plans the rest of the day.  Well, except for learning new ways to drive you out of your mind as you come.”  She nips at his lip, runs her tongue along the edge of his mouth. “I think I might need to practice. A lot.”

“You,” he says, rolling her over onto her back and kissing down her neck and chest, “first.” 

Cupping the back of her head, he starts to suck hickeys into her skin, starting just below her jawline; a little pluck of teeth against sensitive flesh, a flash of tongue as he cradled her to him, gentle as anything. Another one, a little lower down, with a better angle and a larger bite and enough force behind the suction that her skin bloomed red when he pulled back to study it. And again, at her collarbone, lapping at her skin and just barely edging his teeth along the line of bone.

Carolina closes her eyes, relaxing into the heat of his mouth, shivering a little every time he pulls back. “ _ Yes _ , York…” She relishes the fact that they no longer have to hold back, no longer have to hide or stay quiet or pretend for anyone any longer. Their nearest neighbor is nearly 20 miles away. So Carolina lets herself moan unreservedly, fighting the urge to seize two handfuls of his hair, or rake her nails down his body.  Instead she lets go, giving herself over to his keeping for just a little while.

In reply, he keeps moving down, little featherlight kisses until he reaches her breasts, pressing them together to deepen her cleavage and rub his thumbs over her nipples, feeling them slowly stiffen under his attentions. 

“You like me here, don’t you?”

“Yes.” There's no way to hide the raw desire in her voice.  It's been too long for her to be anything but honest, not when he is scrambling her senses with only the touch of his hands and his mouth.  It's harder to resist pulling him down to her chest, but she does resist, and waits, trembling with anticipation.

“Good,” he says, easing her breasts back down and flicking the tip of his tongue against her nipple. “Because I  _ love  _ it.”

York lowers his gaze and takes the very bud of her nipple lightly between his teeth, pulling gently and laving his tongue against it; takes more into his mouth and starts to suck on it properly, humming in satisfaction as he works and settling between her legs to work. His stomach ends up flush with her hips, a steady warmth and pressure against her mound as he drinks in the way her breathing grows heavy. He leans against her more heavily, tensing his abs to tease stimulation against her slit, and he starts to play with her other breast with his free hand, tracing the tips of his fingers along the curve and swell of it.

Carolina cracks her eyes open enough to see the satisfaction in his own, then shuts hers again with a groan. Her back arches, a wordless plea for him not to stop, and she raises her knees on either side of him to corral him in. It takes all her self control not to simply wrap her legs around him and drag him down to her, but she manages. Barely. 

“Talk to me, baby,” he purrs, blowing cool air over her wet skin. “Tell me how you like it.”

“York…” Her voice is rough with frustration and lust, shaky as she fights to keep control. “I love it when you get all mouthy with me, your lips, your tongue all over my body.  I love how you know all the best spots to make me melt.  I love how hot you get, how hot I get, until it feels like everything we touch should catch fire and burn. I love it when you mark me up.” She’s breathless, close to babbling, but he wants more and she can't stop. “I want everyone to see, York. To see I’m yours.  To know you fucked me.  And I want everyone to know how much I loved it. How much I love you.”  Her last words are softer, but with just as much intensity as the rest and she writhes under him, desperate for his touch, his mouth again. 

“And I love you, and doing all these things to you in return.” He could reciprocate with a full speech, but right now he feels as though his mouth has better uses. One such use is switching to her other breast and sucking hard on the sensitive skin there, pinning her nipple between his tongue and teeth and rolling it around.

“You wonderful, glorious, sexy bastard…” The words roll from Carolina's mouth only half-aware - she's so caught up in the feel of him that that she can hardly think straight, let alone speak. “God I want to nail you to the  _ wall _ . I wanna break the furniture with you.  Fuck you in the grass, in the snow.  Do we even get snow here?”  Carolina moans and keeps going without waiting for an answer. “Oh my  _ god,  _ don't stop you  _ gorgeous fuck…” _

He has to stop, if only for a moment to catch his breath after the gut punch of arousal from her filthy promises. “Keep going,” he rasps, swirling his tongue around her stiff nipple.

“God they would be like… obscene snow angels. The imprints on the snow. Where we had snow sex.”  She  _ is _ babbling now, and doesn't care. “And let's do it right by the garage. I want you to walk by it every fucking day. See the handprints where you held yourself up where you were fucking me.  Maybe I'll have you shoot your come in the snow so you have to see that every day too. You'll never get anything done ‘cause when you see it you'll come straight inside and beg for more.  Not in the snow though.  Bet that shits cold.”  

Carolina shivers and keens as though she can feel ice at her back, but it might just be the way he opens his mouth wider over her entire areola, sucking and stroking her with his tongue. His eyes flick up towards her but she needs no encouragement to go on.

“Next time we go out, I’m gonna... _ oh God, York _ … gonna wear a skirt. And before we get out of the truck I'll run your hand up my leg until you find I got nothing on underneath. And you better get comfortable with having an erection in public because  _ God _ I'm gonna remind you of it like, every thirty seconds. And everyone will know how much you want to fuck me. I want everyone to see, York. See I own you. See you're mine. God all the hickeys, York. So many hickeys.” 

Carolina twists her head to the side, baring her teeth as though she wants to bite her own shoulder. “And if you're good, if you manage to keep from bending me over a produce display and taking me hard from behind like a goddamn animal, we’ll make a stop on the way home. ‘Cause I wanna fuck you, York. The way we talked about so long ago. But we need… special equipment. We gotta find a place.” Carolina keens louder, nearly a shriek, and reaches a hand down between her legs.

York chokes, desire flooding his veins like boiling water at her words. “Shit, shit--” he fumbles her hands out of the way, lifts her hips and nearly bends her double to shove his tongue inside her.  

Carolina bucks against him, reaching up to grab two handfuls of York's hair, accidentally nicking him with a couple of her nails in the process. She wraps her legs around him, locks him there, trying to keep her head enough not to squeeze and break his jaw. 

He moans against her, adjusting his grip on her thighs, and laps at her hungrily. He’s so focused, so desperate to taste her as deeply as he can that when he pulls off he has to gasp for breath.

“Keep going,” he begs, and dives back in, curling his tongue inside her so it feels like there’s more of him.

Carolina tries, she really does, but it's so hard to think, almost impossible to talk.  “We need blankets. For- for the truck. And when we…  _ god _ ,  _ York, yes… _ ”  She twists against the mattress, her weight rolling over her shoulders before she arches and her head is the only thing bracing against the bed. “The truck-" she tries again, “I wanna fuck you in... _ York _ … the back. The truck b-bed. In the middle of the road. Park in the middle of...where anyone could see us and…  _ fuck _ … York, I can't… I can't think… just don't stop, don't stop fucking me…”

York closes his eyes and pictures it; the hot summer sun beating down on them both, the wind in Carolina’s hair, the blue sky above them and her hands braced on his chest as she rides him so hard the suspension squeals. The desire to touch himself is near overwhelming, as is his need to breathe, but Carolina overrides all his senses and he strokes her clit with a shaking thumb until she comes. 

Her orgasm is as loud as his was silent. Carolina throws her head back and screams his name, releasing his hair to claw at the sheets. Her body twitches with each wave of pleasure and she twists, half dragging him down with her as she presses her face into the mattress to muffle her cries. Her shrieks fade to groans, and even those grow weaker as her breathing becomes ragged.  

York slowly brings her back down, the strokes of his tongue shifting from desperate thrusts to slow, delicate touches just enough to keep her riding a wave of sensation. Eventually he pulls back, pressing kisses along the inside of her thigh and silently wincing as he massages his neck from where her jolt had wrenched it.

“Now who’s the one making plans?” he teases, nuzzling her skin as he lays down in a more comfortable position between her legs and reaches up the mattress to twine his fingers with hers.

“I think if I can't do it now, I never can,” she whispers, squeezing his hand.  All those years, all that time when she didn't dare look ahead because she was terrified of making plans and watching it all get torn away in a hail of bullets. This, everything they have now, it is all because of him. York's dreams, York's plans, everything he wasn't afraid to piece together and work towards, no matter the danger.  It was because of him, because he was ready when the Project began to implode, that they were able to get clear, that so many of their friends could get free.

And now _ , finally,  _ she can dream with him.

“Did you have any favourites?” As much as she would love to close her eyes, she wants to hear this more. She tugs on his hand, trying to coax him up to her where she can see him, kiss him properly.

“All of them. The skirt, the snow, the truck…” he crawls up her body to hold himself over her, hovering over her as he leans in to tempt her with almost-kisses. “The  _ strap on _ .” York’s composure wavers. “Maybe when we go to get condoms, huh?”  

“Mmm.” Carolina wraps her arms behind his neck and pulls him down.  “Sooner we go do that-" she interrupts herself as she kisses him thoroughly, locking her legs around his hips, “- the sooner I can fuck you deep, face down on the bed.”  She pulls back to lock eyes with him. “Any plans for tomorrow?”

At the press of her thighs against his hips, York’s breathing gets shallow; he licks his lips and swallows. “N-not particularly,” he admits, body rigid as he fights the urge to rock his hips down those scant inches, plunge his cock inside of her and fuck her properly. “Speaking of fucking… if I give you a minute and-- and promise to pull out, do you wanna have sex?”

“Yes.”  She answers without thinking, but once she stops to think, she doesn't regret it. “God I want you, and I can't wait for tomorrow.  Fuck me, York.”

“Now?” he asks, voice cracking. “It’s not-- not too much too soon, is it?”

“Well, we could wait a whole minute like you suggested, if you are still catching your breath.”  Carolina draws a finger over his lips. “Up to you.”

Eyes wide and dark, York lowers his head to suck on the tip of her finger before pulling off. Still holding her gaze, he reaches down between them and guides himself into her.

She was wrong, it  _ is _ too soon after her last orgasm, and as he pushes in, every nerve lights up with a jolt. But it's worth it for the look on York's face, for the strangled gasp as he pulls back slightly before pushing deeper.  Luckily she's plenty wet already, and it only takes a few halting thrusts before he is in her completely. He stops a moment, catching his breath and she does her best to ignore the chain lightning under her skin as she leans up to catch his lip in her teeth for a second, pulling at him gently before letting go and dropping back to the mattress. 

“What's wrong, York? Tired already?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he says, voice soft. “Just thinking how it’s gonna be hard to keep my promise, since-- since as soon as I’m in you, I never wanna come out.”

“You don't have to.”  Her touch isn't teasing this time, her fingers curl on his chest, tender and comforting. “It's okay. You can stay in me. The first time was a shock, I had no idea how I would feel, how I would react. But we can do this. It'll be okay.”

Again, he shakes his head. “I promised. I can do it. I told you, didn’t I?” York starts to move, deep and slow, watching her face as he slides out by centimeters and pushes back in. “I won’t be the reason you cry like that again.”

Carolina doesn't answer - as soon as he starts to move she is already half gone, trying to shove aside the lingering sensation of overstimulation in order to focus on him.  But his slow pace makes her distraction worse, not better, and it's far too early for her to be moaning like this.

It’s killing him too, this pace, and yet he wouldn’t trade it for the world - he gets to watch Carolina melt into the sheets all over again, eyes gone heavy-lidded and scarlet lips parted over all her sweet sounds. He gets to watch her fall into his pace, wrap her legs around his hips and move in sync with him, her body taking him in over and over again as easy as anything. She’s still so wet from her first orgasm and his saliva, so tight from the recent orgasm, that not even he can keep this painfully slow tempo forever. But, god, he wishes he could.

Maybe he can compromise.

York leans down to kiss her, slowing to a stop buried deep with his chest flush against hers. He starts to grind against her, rubbing against her clit and moving in little circles inside of her.

“I love you so much,” he reminds her, pressing kisses over all her hickeys, sliding his hands between her back and the sheets to wrap his arm around her and hold her close. “So, so much. I want this to last for hours.”

“All my hours are yours,” Carolina promises him breathlessly. “For the rest of my life. Can think of few better ways to spend it.”

“And mine, yours.” He won't let anything keep them apart again, and channels the sudden flash of protective rage into a gentle tug on her earlobe with his teeth.

Carolina closes her eyes and kisses him blindly, anywhere she can reach. Her hands trace the shape of his face, neck and shoulders, and she catches her hands in his hair, panting against his neck as he grinds tortuously slow against her.  

“God, do you have any idea what you do to me? How good you make me feel? Then again,” she adds, thrusting her hips to accentuate how wet she is, “maybe it's a little obvious.”

The sound is makes us downright embarrassing, a fluttering breathless little moan. “I like hearing it. Like feelin’ it too. You do the same to me, both with my heart and my dick. ...Crap, can I-- can I rephrase that to be more romantic?” It's getting tricky to be articulate, with how he can feel her wetness clinging to his skin at the base of his cock. She tightens around him on one of his barely-there thrusts and he nearly screams.  

“Mmm.  You like that, don’t you?” Carolina smiles wickedly into his skin, bearing down while giving an extra deep thrust. “Let yourself go, York. Moan for me. Scream for me.” She does it again, holding herself tight for as many thrusts as she can manage. “I'm the only one who can hear you now, and I want to hear it  _ all. _ ”

His pace falters; York starts to move a little faster, pull out further before plunging back in just to savor how Carolina felt flexing around him. His breath comes in little choking whimpers, gasped fragments of her name as he holds himself up on his elbows for leverage.

“Fuck,” he swears against her jawline, “I wanna-- I wanted to go slower than this but-- shit, you're so good. So good to me and I wanna be good to you, be good for you so just--  _ aaaahh _ , just tell me how you want it.”

“Mount me,” she says immediately. “From behind. I want you in me as deep as you can go, York. I want you to get lost in me and never come out again.”

He jerks out of her too fast for both parties but fuck, if that didn't make his heart beat in triple time. “Yes yes yes yes,” he babbles, pulling her up for apology kisses and helping her roll over onto her hands and knees. 

York palms her ass, spreading her cheeks wide, then running his hands along her hips to the tops of her thighs. “God damn it, you look so good like this, all ready and waiting for me--” he presses kisses to each of her vertebrae, working his way up until he reaches her neck. “I'm the only one who gets to see you like this and it's-- you have no idea how it feels,” and he drags the head of his cock against her slit, teasing them both. “You trust me so much to let me do this, don't you? Love me so much to let me feel you like this?”

“I trust you with my body and my life,” she replies, simply. “With my future. Our future. And I love you so much that I melt to have you see me like this, to feel you so ready and wanting me. And I lust for you, York. In so many wonderful dirty little ways, and I can't wait to make you come so hard that y-"

Carolina cuts off with a gasp as York pushes himself inside her, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to go all the way in at one thrust, and he is  _ deep _ . She arches her back, reaching behind to touch him and squeals with pleasure as he catches her by the scruff of her neck with his teeth.  Carolina freezes, eyes unfocused and blissed out, whispering encouragement, as he fills her completely, over and over again.

All his thoughts of a slow steady pace are slipping through the cracks in his sanity like water through his fingers; face pressed against her nape as he gasps and groans with every thrust, York holds her close as he fucks them both senseless. Carolina’s voice is so sweet in his ears, rough and needy and demanding all at once. Even like this, as on top as he could ever be, he is a slave to her desires and the massive hickey he starts to bite on the back of her neck is as much for her as it is for him.

Carolina wants to bear down for him again, the same way she did to drive him crazy before, but it takes focus that is nonexistent for her in this moment.  Her arms are shaking and ready to give out, and as York moves he shifts his grip on her neck, sending a new wave of electricity through her. She can hear herself moaning, low and feral, with each thrust and lets herself get louder, to make sure he can hear it, to make sure he knows he is driving her out of her mind.

“I love it when you fuck me like an animal, York.” She is breathless with her love for it, which makes it hard to talk, but she presses on. “I love it when you mount me like a bitch in heat. I love it when you get a little rough, when you take exactly what you want, what you need to get off. I love that you know that I get off on it too, and you aren't afraid to indulge me. I hope it's as good for you as it is for me.”  With her last words, Carolina manages to tighten herself around him again.

It's too close. York just barely manages to pull out in time with a snarl, letting go of her neck but keeping one hand on her hip as he paints his come over her ass and lower back. The sights, sounds, the lingering slickness of her pussy around his cock as he milks himself dry, has his breath coming short and harsh. It's like what she said about animals; like part of his brain has turned off and all he cares about is her. Coherent speech is impossible, and he prays he says enough with the way he strokes her hip as he pours himself over her.

As soon as he’s done, York reaches a hand between her legs to thrust three fingers inside her as he licks and sucks his come of her skin, moaning in ecstasy from the taste.

It's not the same as his cock,  _ nothing  _ is as good as York's cock, but his fingers still force the air out of her lungs. Her arms finally give way and she ends up whining and panting against the mattress, begging wordlessly for him not to stop.  She feels his tongue on her, his lips over her ass and back and when she realizes what he is doing it nearly drops her completely.  

She wants to say something, anything, talk dirty to him in the way she knows he loves, but it's impossible. She gets her arms over her head, bracing as much as she can against the mattress.  It's a distant part of herself that realizes she has seized a mouthful of the bedding, hauling on it with her teeth as York works at her with a steady rhythm.  

She is starting to feel fatigue creeping in, but then she feels something change- the angle, or the curl of his fingers - and she's there. 

Carolina screams into the sheets, curling up onto her side as she comes. She locks his hand between her legs and shakes,  clutching at the blankets. The only part of him close enough to touch is his wrist, just beyond where his fingers still penetrate her, so she seizes him, wraps her fingers around him, holds him as her body twitches with pleasure until her orgasm slowly dies out.  

Switching to two fingers and slowing nearly to a stop, York crawls up Carolina’s body, kissing every inch of her body as he goes. “That's it, that's my girl, I've got you,” and a thousand other praises and soothing phrases as he settles half on top of her, easing out entirely in order to hold her to him better. He’s so overwhelmed with affection that all he can think of for a minute is how much he would die for her, how much he would kill for her, and how many times they did both for each other in the Project.

They really do need a punching bag.

“How’re you feelin’ babe? Not too much, right?” he asks, his chest flush with her shoulder as he kisses her on the neck.

“S’perfect.”  Carolina pulls him higher to reach her, and her kiss is long, lazy and content. “Just like you.”  She yawns, tries to smother it against his cheek. “We just had a nap, didn't we? Of optimal duration or something?”  Yawns again, turns it into a kiss, a series of kisses across his cheek and back to his mouth.  “That what Delta said? Cause he might be full of shit.”

“He is always full of shit,” York assures her, reciprocating her attention and easing her onto her back so he could lay on top of her. Her contentedness, her pleasure and exhaustion echo his own, doubling and redoubling it all back, and he sucks his wet fingers off in full view of her. Satisfied, he settles back on his elbows, grinning down at her. “He learned from the best, you know.”

“Clearly.”  The sarcasm in her voice is countered by the affection in her eyes, right before she wraps her arms and legs around him in a full-bodied embrace. “God, I just feel like I'll never get used to this. I don't think I want to get used to it.”

Complacency is dangerous. But if one of them deserves to not carry that burden of worry, it's her. He’s in too deep of the mire of pessimism and paranoia to get out now. And he, too, learned from the best.

“I hope we do, though. We deserve--” he’s cut off by a gurgle. “Oh, shit, the cinnamon buns. I never finished mine.”

“Too late.  I'm sure Delta helped himself by now.” Carolina drags him down for more kisses. “Relax. It's still there. Let me enjoy this bit of sweetness first and then you can hare off.”

Convinced, York settles back down, shifting down her body to rest his head on her chest, ear above her heart. From this angle his vision is more impaired, good eye flush against her skin and parts of her features blurring, so York closes them both and sighs, listening to the rhythm of her slowing, steady pulse.

“I love you,” he says, vulnerable and honest as he can be, and pulls his arms just a little closer to her body.

“I love you, too.”  Carolina runs one hand through York's hair, dragging her nails lightly in swirls over his scalp. Her other hand brushes up and down his spine in long, slow strokes. She tilts her head down to look at him.  “You know what I just realized?”

He hums a question, eyes still closed.

Carolina raises her head, still moving her hands at the same measured pace. “I still don't know if you’re ticklish.”

York’s eyes snap open and his whole body tenses up in pure, basic comedic terror. His face contorts as he tries to school it back into nonchalance. “Whhhhhy would you want to know something as useless as that?”

“Oh, don’t worry, York. I'm not going to tickle you right now,” Carolina purrs in his ear, drawing a single finger down his neck.  “Not when I’ve given you a warning. I'll wait. Bide my time. But don't worry. It'll be worth the wait.”  She grins down art him evilly. “For me anyway.”

“You,” he marvels, “are downright terrifying.”

“Aren't you glad I'm on your side? Imagine if I wasn't.” She strokes her hand down him again. “So tense, York! Relax. You're safe with me.” Carolina’s giggle is straight into his hair, and she seals it there with a kiss.

“I have seen you say something along those lines before stabbing someone in the neck,” he reminds her, squirming with nerves but not leaving.

“Here… just to show you that you can  _ completely trust me, _ ” Carolina rolls them over so York is now pinned underneath her, “I will take a turn on top.” Grin growing wider, Carolina leans down to touch their noses together. “See? No tickles. I promised.”

“Ah yes. Being powerless under you does nothing to me except inspire confidence in my personal safety.”

“Good. As it should be. In future, when we are in bed together in this position, I will consider all erections to simply a vote of confidence in how safe I make you feel.” Carolina stretches her neck on each side, then turns her head to yawn into her own shoulder. She drops the act completely, lowering herself to cuddle against York's side with a hum of contentment. 

“What can I say? Military training makes me want to stand to attention in the presence of a leader.” 

He pulls her close and his stomach growls again. His mouth tastes of her sweat, her juices and his own come; delicious, but not exactly filling after half a day of hard physical labor. He sighs, staring at the ceiling, and chews on his bottom lip.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She's already starting to drift again but anchors herself best she can to hear his answer. 

He rubs his forehead with the heel of one hand. “I can't stop thinking about the cinnamon bun I left out there. Is it okay? Does it think it wasn't edible enough, and that's why I abandoned it? I took it away from its bun brothers, Carolina. I am responsible for it. And I left it in pieces on the table. Delicious, delicious pieces.”

Carolina bursts out laughing, and sits up, freeing him. “Go mount a rescue mission. Take reinforcements.”  She yawns again but stretches instead of laying back down. “I should get up too, otherwise I'm never going to sleep tonight.”

York rolls out of bed, hunts down his clothes and pulls his boxers and pants back on. The shirt he leaves off - it was dirty anyway. On a second thought, he eyeballs Carolina, naked save for the hickeys all over her neck. With a shrug to himself, he tosses the shirt across the room and gives her the one she had worn earlier.

“You can come with me. I interrupted your meal, too. Also, you need something a little bit better than carbs and come for breakfast.”

“Sounds good. Get moving. I’ll be out in a minute.”  Carolina sits up, and lets her eyes drift over him, leaning back on her hands in a way that seems to highlight her nakedness all the more. “Don’t worry about a clean shirt.  I’ll pick one and bring it out for you.  Of course, I won’t let you wear it until I get tired of seeing you shirtless or you start to feel cold. And spoiler alert--” A grin curls Carolina’s mouth, “I will never get tired of the sight of your body.  Now... git.” 

York gives her a saucy, lazy salute that back on the MOI would have led to her chewing him out later, but now simply gives her the opportunity to admire his chest and arms a moment longer, which is his obvious intention. York turns to return to the kitchen, and Carolina finally rises to hunt down some clean clothes for herself, ready to start the day for the second time.

  
  



End file.
